Chances Lost
by Amaya Redfern
Summary: The battle with the Arishok causes wounds that will never really heal. Very sad, not like my usual stories.


**A/N: This is not happy. I wrote this because I woke up after far too little sleep and couldn't fall asleep again. And because of something that happened to me very recently. I'm sorry it's not like my usual stuff.**

Hawke awoke slowly, her eyelids reluctantly lifting upward. She squinted in the light – it wasn't particularly harsh, but she had the distinct feeling that she had not opened her eyes in quite some time. What had happened?

The last thing she remembered was…she was walking to the Keep. Fenris and Varric were with her….oh yes, the Qunari. She'd been there to stop the Arishok. And Isabela had come in halfway through, but she'd still had to fight with him.

The battle had been long and hard on her, but she'd still felt she was winning…and then he'd stabbed her through the stomach.

If she remembered correctly she'd fired a last shot into his head before blacking out, arm held protectively over her abdomen, as though that could stop the blood. Had she won then? And where was she now?

She carefully turned her head to the right, towards the only source of light. The fireplace. _Her_ fireplace. This was her room. The thought made her relax slightly even as her mind became more awake and aware. She now looked to her left and saw Anders slumped over in a chair by her side, softly snoring. He must have been up for hours healing her. She'd never be able to thank him enough.

She took a slow breath, deciding that could wait. At the moment, she was curious about her wound. Hesitantly, she prodded her stomach. There was no pain, and no blood came away on her fingertips…She now gingerly lifted the hem of her shirt to see.

There was a long ragged scar on her belly, showing exactly where the Arishok had skewered her. She ran her fingers across it lightly, surprised. The wound must have been truly awful for it to leave such a mark, especially with Anders' healing. She sat up to get a better look.

With a hiss, Hawke fell back to the bed, her abdominal muscles screeching in pain. Anders' woke with a start and his hands immediately went to her, already glowing blue. She waved him away, grimacing. "I'm alright Anders," her voice was dry and raspy. "I tried to do too much too soon is all."

He sat back with a relieved sigh. "You need to rest, you've been through quite a bit."

She nodded and furrowed her brow. "What happened after I shot him?"

"That ended up being the killing blow. The Qunari left, just as he promised. Meredith named you Champion of Kirkwall although…I don't think she knew you were going to live at the time." He added the last part rather sheepishly.

Hawke gave a small smile in response to this before asking "…Isabela?"

"She's still about, though she hasn't come by. I think she feels ashamed," his expression turned dark now. "As she should."

Hawke put a hand on his arm. "She came back. She has my forgiveness; you should give her yours."

Anders shared a look with her for a few moments before giving a resigned sigh, though he said nothing. She wasn't sure what that meant, but decided to let it go. The mage rose from his seat and returned shortly with a glass of water, which she took gratefully. She did try to sip at it, but couldn't resist taking a few indulgent gulps. Water had never tasted so good.

Forcing herself to slow down, she asked "How long was I out?"  
"Only a few days," Anders replied, and her eyes widened. "Trust me, it could have been worse. Your wound was quite severe."

"Indeed. I saw the scar…" Hawke gave him a confused look. Anders had averted his eyes and seemed intent on looking anywhere but at her. "…Anders? What's wrong?"

Still not looking at her, he took a breath and said "As…As you saw I could not heal your wound completely. There will be some lasting damage."  
"I've dealt with scars before Anders," Hawke laughed. "I'm not so vain that I would be upset by something like that." He still refused to meet her eyes. "It's something else, isn't it?"  
Anders wrung his hands together. "I'm…not sure how to tell you this." He took another slow breath and finally did look her in the eyes, a solemn expression on his face. "The Arishok did so much damage to your system Hawke, I…I'm amazed you even lived. But I couldn't fix everything, I couldn't…"

"Just spit it out Anders," Hawke admonished, becoming exasperated. "What did he do to me?"

Finally, he said very quickly, "You will never be able to have children."

* * *

Hake lay in her bed, gazing at the fire, not really seeing it at all. Anders' words kept running through her mind.

_I'm so sorry Hawke. He did too much damage. I tried, I really did, but there was nothing I could do._

_You will never be able to have children._

She'd told him that was perfectly alright. She'd never really _wanted_ children to begin with. When she was young she'd never been able to picture herself as a mother, a wife, taking care of her husband and children all day. And now, well, she wasn't exactly in a position to have children, if she even wanted them. She was far too involved in the politics of this city, and seemingly surrounded by death. A child had no place in her life.

But still…to have the chance taken away…

It hurt more than it should. Anders had tried to get her to talk to him, sure that she needed to vent her feelings to someone, but she had smiled and waved him off until he'd finally given up and left. She knew he didn't believe for an instant that she was alright, but she certainly wasn't going to ask him to stay. She could handle this on her own.

_What would mother have said,_ she thought with a short, bitter laugh. She had wanted a grandchild so badly. She had little to no chance of that with Bethany now. Of course, she may have abandoned all hope when she had discovered Hawke was involved with Fenris. _That_ conversation hadn't gone well.

Hawke sighed, leaning back against the headboard. No children, ever. That was okay. She didn't need the screaming, the mess, the constant begging for attention…

An image, unbidden, came to her of a toddler with a mop of dark hair on his head, the same color as her own, and bright green eyes…she refused to acknowledge where they came from. She imaged the little boy clumsily making his way to her, a goofy grin on his face. She thought he might have been about to speak, perhaps call her "mama," but she closed her eyes on the vision before she could torture herself more.

She was surprised by the feeling of something cold on her cheek, and touched her hand to her face, wetness coming away on her fingertips. Oh dear, now she was crying. She tried to desperately to calm her breath that was now speeding up and found she could not. She put a hand over her eyes, ashamed at her own weakness.

There was the familiar creak of a floorboard near the door. Hawke froze. Oh Maker, someone was here, and they would see her _crying._ She carefully lowered her hand so that just the top half of her eyes showed.

It was Fenris.

Neither of them moved for quite a few moments. Hawke suspected neither of them quite knew what to make of the other.

Fenris ended up being the first to shift, and stepped quietly into her room. He sat upon her bed, and bless him, he didn't say a word. He asked no questions. He carefully pulled her to him, wary of her injury, and let her head rest on his shoulder. Hawke took the message and let her quiet sobs resume, crying for the child she would never have.


End file.
